Wickeder Grace
by KelaSaar
Summary: After seeing poor Cullen lose a lot more than his shirt in Varric's last Wicked Grace game, the Inquisitor takes it upon herself to teach him the ins and outs of the game. All he needs is the proper motivation. Cullen/F!Inquisitor smut


Cullen ran a hand through his hair as he looked down at the mess of reports covering his desk. It seemed that his foreseeable future consisted of nothing but paperwork, paperwork, paperwork. Maybe Adelind would be willing to take some of it off his hands. He'd never understand it, but the Inquisitor actually enjoyed this sort of thing, Maker bless her.

"You look like you could use a break."

Speak of the Inquisitor, and she shall appear.

"That sounds like a marvelous idea," Cullen replied, as Adelind sauntered over to perch on the corner of his desk, a half-smile on her lips.

Cullen leaned back in his chair and looked up at her. "You look like you're about to tell me something I don't want to hear."

Adelind dramatically rolled her eyes. "It's nothing that bad," she said as she picked up a quill and the nearest report and began idly going through it. The damned half-smile hadn't left her face. "Varric just told me he was planning another game of Wicked Grace next week." The smile was starting to take on a decidedly evil tone.

"No," Cullen said flatly.

"Come on, I'll even help you this time."

"I seem to remember you saying you liked watching me lose."

Adelind waved her hand dismissively. "I do. But as someone who loves you it's my duty to help you win a little bit of your dignity back," she said, the solemnity of her tone undercut by the spark in her eyes.

"And how do you propose we do that?" Cullen asked, skeptically.

Adelind gave him a cocky grin in return. "The same way you finally managed to beat your sister at chess. Practice." She paused. "And proper motivation."

That last part certainly caught Cullen's interest.

"You really think that will help?"

"I know it will," Adelind replied, unreasonably confident as ever. She put the report down and leaned toward him, slowly walking her fingers up his chest. "I'll have you playing like an Antivan card shark in no time. Besides, we could both use a night off."

"Fine," Cullen replied, barely able to keep a smile off his own face.

"Good." Her lips ghosted across his own, the brief touch leaving him aching for more. "Then I'll see you tonight."

She hopped off the desk and practically skipped out of the room. Cullen wasn't entirely sure what he'd just gotten himself into, but, looking down at the report she had discarded on his desk, it at least seemed that she had given him a head start on that afternoon's work.

* * *

><p>After a long and mostly productive afternoon stuck in his office, Cullen found himself scaling the steps to the Inquisitor's quarters.<p>

"Adelind?"

"In here," she replied, mischief in her voice.

Bracing himself, Cullen entered the room to find Adelind leaning against a fully prepared card table. She nodded at the table. "I made Iron Bull bring it up. He still owes me after the Incident."

"I'm glad you're here," she continued, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him into a deep, lingering kiss that made him want to forget about playing cards altogether.

"Ready to learn?" she murmured, leaning back in his arms.

Learning to play Wicked Grace was the last thing on Cullen's mind at the moment, but he knew Adelind wasn't the sort to be easily dissuaded.

"As ready as I'll ever be," he replied.

She laughed. "Don't sound so despondent, Cullen. This is going to be fun." The half-smile was back.

Cullen gave her a wary look. "For you or for me?"

The half-smile had graduated to full-on smirk.

"Both of us, if you play your cards right."

"Well, I'll try not to embarrass myself too badly," he said, unsure if he should find her answer thrilling or terrifying.

"Oh, I don't think you will," Adelind replied flirtatiously.

He raised an eyebrow. "So how _do_ you plan to train me exactly?"

Her smile widened. Terrifying, Cullen concluded, her answer was definitely terrifying.

"Ever hear of Antiva City rules?"

Cullen cleared his throat. Good things rarely came from Antiva City. "Can't say that I have."

"It's simple, no wagering involved. Lose a hand, lose an article of clothing. That's where the motivation part comes in," she said, leaning close and lowering her voice. She slid her hands around his neck and down the hard planes of his chest, slowly heading south as his breath stilled. When she reached his belt, she stopped and met his heated gaze, lips slightly parted. They stayed like that moment before she flashed him a grin and stepped back, moving to the other side of the table.

"Because the only way you're getting any of this-" she gestured down her body "-off me tonight is if you earn it." The smirk was back in full force. "I'll even let you start with all that armor, just to keep things fair."

Cullen shook his head. Here goes nothing. He sat down across the table from her.

"Prepare the cards, Inquisitor."

* * *

><p>To her credit, Adelind <em>was<em> trying to help him. He even imagined her advice might come in handy against someone who didn't so hopelessly outclass him.

Still, in short order, Cullen found himself divested of his shoes, his socks, and the entirety of his armor.

And Adelind, for all that she _was _trying to help him, was looking infuriatingly smug. It seemed her good intentions were doing battle with her innate competitiveness and her desire to win was, well, winning.

"You really are bad at this," she said almost pityingly after another victory saw Cullen's coat join the pile of garments on the floor.

Cullen smiled. "Giving up on me?"

Adelind gave him a mock offended look. "Never. I have great faith in your ability to get me naked."

Cullen choked back a laugh. "I'll try to live up to your expectations."

Her voice turned sultry. "You won't be disappointed when you do."

Then something happened that surprised them both.

Cullen actually _won_.

Adelind's shocked expression matched Cullen's own. She slowly looked from the cards on the table to him and back again.

"Well I'll be damned," she said with a grin.

"Frankly, I'm as surprised as you are," Cullen replied.

Adelind met his gaze as she stood to slowly slide her boots off. "Looks like you're teachable after all."

Or maybe not, since Cullen quickly lost the next round in rather spectacular fashion.

Adelind eyed him up and down before arching an eyebrow. "So what's it going to be?"

"Shirt," Cullen said decisively.

"Good … choice," Adelind replied, her voice catching on the last word as Cullen pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it on the floor, revealing the hard lines and sculpted muscle of his chest.

If he didn't know better, he'd say Adelind was starting to look a little bit flushed.

"It's your turn," he prompted.

"What?"

"To deal."

"Right, of course. That makes sense. Because you just dealt, so now it's my turn, and …" she trailed off as she started shuffling, trying to look anywhere in the room but at him, and failing miserably.

It didn't take an expert to notice that Adelind was hardly playing her best anymore, but to his surprise Cullen found that he had actually picked up enough skill to take advantage of her distraction, winning the next round easily.

"So what's it going to be?" Cullen asked, echoing her question.

Adelind looked him in the eyes, her gaze full of a bravado that was now starting to ring a bit false.

"Shirt."

With that, Adelind began very deliberately and _very_ slowly to unbutton her shirt, gradually revealing the pale skin, lean muscle, and soft curves Cullen was becoming so intimately familiar with.

Cullen felt his mouth go dry at the sight. "Good choice," he said, the words coming out a bit strangled.

After that, the game somehow became both more and less competitive.

At this point, no master of the game would call either player skillful, and they spent far more time looking at each other than the cards. A hot and hungry tension suffused the room.

Adelind's play in particular had taken a nosedive, and she found herself with the losing hand once again.

Neither of them said a word, but Adelind's heated gaze never left his as she stood, leaned forward, and slid her pants down her long legs with aching slowness.

Maker, he never got tired of the sight of those legs. His pants were growing painfully tight, and he longed to drag her across the table and give her something better to do with those beautiful legs of hers, but he wasn't about to back down, not now, not with Adelind down to just her smallclothes and victory in sight.

The next round was Adelind's.

The half-smile made a brave return.

"Looks like your luck is running out, Commander," she said, desperately trying to keep her voice even, to keep the raw need out.

Cullen slowly began unfastening his belt. "It's not over yet, Inquisitor," he replied huskily. Her gaze on him was almost a tangible thing as he removed his pants, and he felt rather than heard her sharp intake of breath at the sight of the bulge in his smallclothes. Clearly he wasn't the only one whose mind was already thinking ahead.

Adelind lost the next hand and the cloth binding her breasts, and if the way she was biting her lower lip was any indication, she seemed to truly realize for the first time during the course of their game that she might actually lose. Normally competitive to a fault, the indecision written on her face said that she might be starting to think some things were worth losing her pride for.

It all rested on one final round, and when the Angel of Death finally appeared, it was Cullen's hand that proved superior.

Adelind stared at the cards arrayed on the table, her disbelief obvious. "Son of a bitch," she said softly, a trace of amusement in her voice.

She stood up. "Would you care to do the honors?" Her voice was coy, playful even, but the look in her eyes was intense and devouring.

Cullen slowly made his way around the table and knelt down before her, hooking his fingers gently underneath the fabric on her hips. She shivered at his touch.

As he slowly slid her last article of clothing down her body, he looked up at her. Their gaze met. Her pupils were dilated, her normally pale eyes dark with desire. He could only imagine they mirrored his own. He spoke slowly, his breath raising goosebumps on her bare skin.

"You're not normally this gracious in defeat," he said a small smirk curving his lips.

Adelind let out a shuddering breath, her hands reaching to cover his own, and she gave him a soft smile.

"For, you I'm willing to make an exception."

With that, the last of Cullen's reserve was gone, and the next thing Adelind knew she had been tossed on the bed, Cullen on top of her and grinning.

He pulled her in to a deep kiss, fingers tangling in her dark hair, delighting in the feeling of their bare skin finally pressed together as his tongue sought entrance to her mouth.

Adelind was moaning, pressed flush against him, her hands everywhere on him, tracing the scars that lined his chest, running down his back. He dragged his mouth lower, leaving a trail of kisses as he worked his way toward her breast. He captured a rosy nipple in his mouth, sucking on the tip before running his tongue across the sensitive flesh, leaving her breath hitched and her body thrumming with desire.

Her legs twined with his, just as he had pictured, and her hips sought out his own, grinding against his still covered erection, desperate for the friction.

Adelind's lips and tongue had shifted to the curve of his jaw, as he reached down to quickly remove the offending fabric.

When he was finally naked against her, she pulled back and looked up at him, grinning.

"Does that make it a draw?" she asked cheekily.

Cullen's hand ran up the inside of her thigh, strong, calloused fingers grazing her wet folds, rubbing against her clit.

He looked down at her, the corner of his mouth curling upward as he continued his ministrations.

"Admit it. I beat you."

He slid a finger in, teasing her, curling it into her body.

Adelind was breathing heavily by this point. "Fine," she gasped, "but this doesn't feel much like losing."

Cullen's laugh was cut short by her lips, and he finally entered her. She was wet and ready and he slipped inside her easily. He let a deep groan as the sensations overwhelmed him. Adelind was warm and tight and it felt as perfect as it always did. He slowly began thrusting into her, his pace gradually quickening, her nails digging into his back.

After the evening they had, it took all his power not to spill himself as soon as was inside her, but he knew he wasn't going to last long, and neither was Adelind. Their pace was becoming frantic, and he could tell she was close. As he pushed deeply into her, he could feel her contract around him. Her back arched, and she threw her head back, gasping his name like a prayer. His name on her lips was all it took for him to lose himself, and he felt his thrusts grow more erratic before he finally came himself. He held her tightly to him, his breathing ragged and his face pressed into the hollow of her neck. Eventually, their breathing calmed and he rolled off of her.

Adelind curled up close to him, her head resting gently on his chest.

"So," she asked innocently, looking up at him from underneath her lashes, "do you think you're ready to give Wicked Grace another try?"

Cullen wrapped an arm around her, his hand trailing up the length of her back.

"I think I'm going to need a lot more practice first."


End file.
